CHAPTER V

"So pa.s.s the bottle about, hurrah!

Gaily sing and shout, hurrah!

Jolly artillerymen are we!"

(_Artillery song._)

Sergeant Schumann looked once more round the two rooms and the kitchen; no, nothing had been left behind. Only his overcoat and hat hung on the window-bolt, and his stick stood in the corner.

The civilian clothes did not please him at all. Every other minute his hand was up at his neck, feeling for a collar-band which seemed to be much too loose, but which, in reality, was not there at all.

His wife came in, busy as ever, in her hat and cloak, a little leather bag and an umbrella in her hand. She was to start at noon for the little mountain railway-station, where she would get the house ready for the furniture, which should arrive during the day. The sergeant-major, or rather the station-master's a.s.sistant, had some money matters to settle in the garrison town, and would not follow her until the next morning.

Frau Schumann was quite out of breath. Those stupid gunners had been so disagreeable when she wished to have her flowers put in the furniture van. She began excitedly: "Thank G.o.d, Schumann, the van is ready. Here are the keys. It's quite time for me to go to the station, isn't it?"

Schumann looked at his watch and growled: "Certainly, quite!"

"Then I'll be off," said the little woman.

But she remained standing in the middle of the room, seemingly unable to tear herself away.

"Dear, dear!" she said, "for years I have wished to leave this place, and now that we are really going I feel quite sad; don't you, Schumann?"

The sergeant-major muttered something unintelligible. If it had depended on him the house would not now have been empty and the furniture-van before the door. It was his wife who had worried him into it, and yet now probably she would begin to snivel.

Indeed, she had just taken her handkerchief out of her pocket and raised it to her eyes, when suddenly her face changed: "Good gracious!

our bean-poles are still in the garden! I'm not going to leave them behind. Fancy it's only occurring to me now!"

She was hurrying out. But the sergeant-major got in the way and held up his watch in her face.

"Look here!" he said. "If you don't stir your stumps you'll miss your train."

She was alarmed: "Good heavens, yes, of course! I'm going. Good bye, Schumann! Look after everything, and--and--good bye."

Standing on tiptoe she reached up for a kiss from her husband and was quickly out of the door.

Schumann drew a long breath. She was his dear wife, but now that he had to say farewell to the battery he preferred to be alone, without her.

He stood still in the doorway.

A driver had just brought two horses out of the stable and was harnessing them to the furniture van.

Schumann had not taken much to do with the horses of late years; he knew that they were thoroughly well cared for under Heppner's superintendence, and the deputy sergeant-major was rather apt to resent any interference with his department. But he would have failed in his duty if he had not, in spite of this, kept himself informed of all that concerned the horses; if, in fact, he had not been individually acquainted with each one of them.

Sergeant Schumann went down the steps. He must begin his leave-taking--so he would first say good-bye to the horses.

Slowly he pa.s.sed between the stalls. At that moment the strong smell of the stable seemed to him more delicious than the most fragrant scent, more delicious than the resinous forest breeze which blew through the valley where the little station of the mountain railway lay surrounded by pine woods.

There stood the beautiful creatures side by side in splendid condition and with coats like satin. Nearly all of them were dark bay, and according to temperament they stood stolidly staring before them, or pawed impatiently at the straw, or playfully bit and teased each other.

Only four stalls were empty. "Sybille" and "Achat" were drawing his belongings to the station. Another pair had been borrowed by Major Schrader, who had been invited to a hunting party on a neighbouring estate.

Last he came to his own riding-horse in the loose box, a pretty creature with four white fetlocks, who was rather nervous, and unusually tender-mouthed. Baldwin shrank from the man in the dark brown suit, and it was only when the sergeant-major spoke that the animal recognised him. Even then he was shy, and sugar and bread failed to re a.s.sure him. Schumann called him by his pet name, rubbing his cheek against the velvet nostrils, and then only did the horse become quiet.

The sergeant-major could have shed tears. But he wanted to make an end of it, and clear out from these barracks, where he no longer had his place. Lingeringly he quitted the stable, and going out on to the parade-ground, stood once more before the battery's memorial tablet.

The sixth was one of the oldest batteries; there were therefore a goodly number of skirmishes and battles engraved upon the tablet. Sedan was the most disastrous and at the same time the most glorious day--the day on which the battery had fired nearly eight hundred shots, so that by evening the gunners had become so deaf that they could hardly understand the orders which were shrieked into their ears.

Oh yes, it had been an honour to belong to the battery, and it was only right that in times of peace also the sixth should always have been an example for others.

"To commemorate the fallen; to inspire the living!" he read softly.

He nodded in earnest a.s.sent; then turned round suddenly and re entered his house.

He put on his overcoat hastily, and seized his hat and stick. Then he locked up, and knocked at the deputy sergeant-major's door, in order to give up the keys.

Frau Heppner was alone.

"Are you just going, Herr Schumann?" she asked softly.

The sergeant-major nodded, and said: "I am putting the keys here, in front of the looking-gla.s.s."

Then he went up to the sofa on which the invalid was lying and took her hand. "Good-bye, Frau Heppner."

"Good-bye," answered the woman; and whispering softly she added: "And as we shall not meet again, I must thank both you and your wife."

"But what for?"

The invalid was silent for a moment, then she replied: "Well, when one's own house has always been a perfect h.e.l.l, one learns to appreciate the peace and quiet of others. At least, it helps one to see there is something better than one's own lot."

The sergeant was silent. What could he say to the unhappy woman?

"So, good-bye, Herr Schumann!" she went on. "I sincerely wish you well!"

Schumann breathed more freely as the door closed behind him. He felt deeply for the poor woman, and was relieved to have got over the parting from her.

With the giving up of the key the last cord was loosened which had bound him to the battery and to the military life as a whole.

Everything else had already been done.

The evening before there had been a small _fete_, to which the captain and the two subalterns had invited him and all the non-commissioned officers of the battery. Then in the morning, in the presence of the officers, including the colonel, and before all the men of the regiment, the good-service cross, which the king had granted him, had been handed him by the commanding officer; he had also received permission to wear his old uniform at any patriotic festivities.

The colonel had spoken of him warmly as a pattern soldier, and had concluded with a cheer for the emperor and the king. Then the sergeant-major had requested that he, on his side, might be allowed to say a few words; and with a voice which failed many times he led a cheer for the beloved regiment, and especially for the splendid sixth battery. Afterwards handsome presents were given him: from Wegstetten and the two lieutenants a beautiful gold watch; from Major Schrader a heavy gold chain for it; from the non-commissioned officers an alb.u.m with views of the town and the barracks, and with photographic groups of officers, non-commissioned officers, men, and horses. Finally, the commanding officer presented to him that service sabre which he had worn for ten long years, to be now his own private property.

He had only been able to thank them by a silent grasp of the hand, for fear that if he spoke he would begin to cry like a girl. Afterwards he had also said farewell to all the men. So now he was ready and could go.

It was about half an hour before the time for the afternoon drill. As Schumann entered the parade-ground he heard a voice shout from the steps: "The sergeant-major is going!" And in a moment all came running towards him, the drivers and gunners, old stagers and raw recruits, the entire battery crowding round to shake hands with him once more.

Again the sergeant-major had to clench his teeth; he pa.s.sed silently along, shaking the hands that were stretched out to him.